


Giskin

by valbino



Category: Naruto
Genre: Family, Gen, Ghosts, Parent-Child Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-23
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-04-23 00:26:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4856267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valbino/pseuds/valbino
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Itachi meets Sarada, and realizes that something is very...strange about the situation. Complete.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There was a campfire beyond the thicket. It flickered like laughter. Sarada ran, barefoot, shielding her face with crossed arms so the leaves and twigs did not sting.

She tripped in the same places she always did. There was the boulder by the pond, and the remains of one of the statues at the valley covered in ivy. The fire crackled and popped so loudly now, almost drowning out the whimpers of a baby.

She only stopped when the light seeped behind her arms. She uncovered her face and saw a stranger sitting on the ground with a bundle in hand. He wore his hair much longer than Papa did in the photos around the house, but also looked a lot like him except for the deep, dark circles under his eyes. He even had Sharingan.

"Hello," he said. He seemed sad, but friendly.

(She was quite a bit older than he had expected. Perhaps it was just foolishness on his part for not recognizing that Sasuke's memories were of a toddler.)

"W-who are you?"

"That depends on who you ask. To you, I'm just a stranger."

She crossed her arms. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You don't know me." He smiled very gently, then. "It's alright. I just wanted to meet you."

Sarada was quiet for a bit.

"You look like Papa."

A bit of a laugh. "He  _is_  my little brother."

"No way!" The stranger looked far younger than the photo of Papa on the table. Sarada had never heard anything about a brother or other family. "But...wait…"

Of course, she'd never heard anything about him except that he was always on a mission.

"You can call me Itachi." He patted the ground next to him. "It's okay. I'll explain things in a bit."

Itachi...Uchiha? That name sounded like something she had learned in school, maybe. Or heard the Hokage mention. The murderer? The Massacre? He was so fragile and thin. No way! No  _way_  he could be that guy.

She tiptoed over and knelt. The bundle in his arms wiggled and made a baby noise.

"What's that?"

"Well...I couldn't write a letter. I had to find a dream, or a memory, and slip in between the gaps. Kind of like genjutsu, I suppose."

(He shouldn't have been able to get even this far into her mind, especially not for someone who wasn't even his child. And Sasuke's mind was too full of painful memories.)

"You're weird." She pouted, then quickly corrected her expression. She had been very impolite before and wanted to make up for it.

He laughed the way Mitsuki did when something took him by surprise, even covering his mouth with the back of his hand.

He gently lowered the baby onto a cot. "Shh. Sleep now," he whispered.

"What's going on?"

"Let's get this out of the way first." He paused for almost a minute, or what felt like a minute. "I'm, ah, dead. Technically"

"You're a ghost?" That explained why he was so...small? He was barely present, or seemed it. Either way, what a strange person. She didn't say any of her thoughts aloud.

(She hid her feelings well. That habit reminded him of...himself, he realized. A new kind of pang shivered through him.)

"That's...apt," he finally said.

"How did you d-" She cut herself off. He replied anyway.

"I was sick. I was in a long, hard battle as well, where I exhausted my chakra and overused my Sharingan." He was very quiet. "I feel saying anything more would be overstepping."

(Sasuke, if anyone, would need to be the one to give her the full story of that day.)

"I'm...sorry. I didn't-" She balled her skirt up in her hands.

"Oh, don't be. It was all a long time ago." He half-smiled. "You look a lot like Sasuke did…He never wore glasses, though."

(Itachi was utterly charmed. He longed to embrace her, give her the familial affection she clearly craved. But that's not how this "projection" worked.)

"Uncle Itachi…" she began, unsure if it was a question he could really answer. Her voice shook. "Do you know where Papa is?"

"Not going to ask more about me, or what all this is?" He chuckled, low and soft. "Alright. I don't know where Sasuke is  _exactly_ , unfortunately. His mind is closed off to me."

She blushed and glared at the ground. "I-I didn't wanna be  _rude_!"

(How unlike either of her parents, he thought. Sakura had no issue with being rude, and neither did Sasuke.)

(She recovered quickly from her embarrassment, he noted. Perhaps more like her parents than he'd believed.)

"So where is this?" she asked, sweeping a hand around.

"A memory. An early one. A neutral one." He rested his chin on the palm of his hand. A ring with a red gem glinted on one of his fingers. His nails were painted black, strangely. "Shortly after you were born, I would guess."

"So the-the baby is-me?"

"That's you."

"Why am I in the woods?" Her chest tightened. This was so  _wrong._  Mom had said she was born in the Konoha hospital, free of complications. Her voice rose and cracked. "I wasn't born there."

(Oh no. Why would her parents lie to her about this? Of all the things...)

"You weren't born in the forest, no. I'm unsure exactly where," he murmured, frowning. Inscrutable. "I wouldn't be too concerned."

"B-but-" Her chest felt tight and painful.

"I would think your parents were trying to protect you, if they didn't mention it."

She could feel the dream beginning to unravel. The trees were warping. Veins of white light began dancing at the edge of her vision. Hot, burning tears caused her uncle's face to swim and blur.

(He instinctively reached out to wipe the tears away, then remembered.)

(A surge of anger: at his powerlessness, at Sasuke _,_ even at Sakura for the deception. He knew he had to try again, somehow, to reach Sasuke.)

Papa was always gone on mission, unavailable as anything but a few old photographs. Uncle Itachi was even worse: a ghost, a vision. For all she knew, he might not even be real.

That horrible thought—a new connection was lost, or rather, not even properly made, because her dreaming mind fabricated it—choked out everything else.

She wanted to remember this...dream. She wiped at her eyes beneath the glasses. She couldn't remember if she had learned anything in school about Itachi, but surely she should have. Dreams only used things you saw in reality. Maybe she saw an old photo but it didn't fully register.

She choked it out: "Isn't this just a dream?"

Like a wave of agony, the landscape itself twisted over once. Then it was dangerously still.

Itachi looked sad again. "...No. I'm sorry."

"Will I remember anything when I wake up?"

He poked at her forehead with two fingers. At least it looked like it. She felt a little cold for a few seconds in that spot, but otherwise nothing. He muttered something to himself.

He smiled again, though. "I'll return soon, I promise. It was wonderful meeting you, Sarada."

Then he was gone.

 


	2. Chapter 2

All of Sasuke's memories and dreams, the ones Itachi could find access to, were too happy or too horrific to be suitable. There were no foggy, blurry memories like in Sarada's mind. They were all crisp edges, each image placed into the “good” or “bad” slot. Sasuke's mind was a meticulously organized catalogue.

Perhaps, then, he needed to look at more recent memories; Sasuke's earliest memories were blurred photos and inkstained pages, an image or a voice, but nothing solid enough to ground a projection in. If he concentrated, he could almost—there. One left untouched. Or, more likely, this was something Sasuke had wanted to forget about. It would have to do.

He could feel Sasuke's willpower tensing as he approached the entrance.

The sleep was not deep enough, not yet, not even for a viewing. So he waited. And then found it quite easy to slip into.

Presumably, this was the front room of Sasuke's apartment: a sofa, a coffee table, and a bookshelf. The door was closed. The colors were muted, almost grayscale. What happened here? He stretched his awareness out to find the memory's 'on' switch.

Sasuke and Sakura materalized from bundles of gossamer thread. They were frozen mid-step in the now-open doorway for a second, jittered, then moved.

“--just _leave_ like that,” Sakura hissed. “Sarada is in the hospital!”

“I can't—I can't be useful here,” Sasuke muttered. He kicked his shoes off and threw himself onto the sofa, arms crossed. It's clear they have had similar arguments before. “I should be out there actually _doing_ something.”

Sakura slammed the door so hard that the frame cracked. “How can you _say_ that? Just being there--”

“Is a waste of time. She probably won't even remember this.” Sasuke shifted and refolded his arms. He didn't seem particularly angry, but it was clear he did not have the same understanding as Sakura of what was going on.

Complete silence. Sakura's brittle, stressed sort of anger collapsed. She looked like she'd been slapped.

Almost a whimper: “You promised.”

They faded out, and another set of gossamer people materialized. This memory must have taken place a few days later. Sakura was heading towards the door, and Sasuke was beginning to get up from the sofa.

“Don't forget to lock the door on your way out,” she said. She glanced over her shoulder as she left. “The doctor wanted us _both_ to be there!”

Sasuke dropped a book facedown in his seat after he slipped on a pair of shoes. He moved like someone who was barely awake. There were circles under his eyes. Whatever had been going on was putting stress on him, though he was trying to hide it.

The door closed with a click-chk behind him.

With the third snippet of memory, gossamer-Sasuke appeared, alone. He was pacing, the action laced with suppressed irritation. He had his travel equipment lined up on the coffee table.

Sometimes he would pause and turn a kunai over in his hand, but quickly return to his pacing. The final time, though, he walked over to the table with the photographs on display and pick up one of Sarada as an infant. A sigh.

“She's right,” he muttered.

Like a tsunami, Itachi flooded his awareness through Sasuke's mind, finding the core-self and jerking it into the memory space. He was not gentle.

(Sasuke had strange dreams, sure, but nothing like this. Sarada's illness...why would he dream about Itachi here?)

(No, this was Itachi himself, back from the dead. It had to be.)

The cold wind of fear rippled and howled through the space. Good. Sasuke should be afraid, after what he did. He let Sasuke stew like that for awhile, while he let the wave of anger taper out until he found words.

(It was too late. Itachi had already seen it.)

“I assume you had a reason?” Itachi began. “What I've just observed...” He shook his head. “Do you just not care?”

Sasuke blanched, but quickly school his expression into a sort of aloofness. The unease undulating through the space, however, did not diminish. His nostrils flared.

“Of course I care.” He crossed his arms.

“Is that so.” Itachi crossed his arms and paced around. “What, then, would you have been doing 'out there'?”

“You don't--” He made a guttural noise. “It's—the world...it's not...safe. Even though the war ended years ago. I want to ensure my clan is safe. That the village is safe.”

Itachi heard his father's voice in that speech. For the good of the clan. He rested his forehead in his palm. Why should he be surprised?

Sasuke shrugged. “And even if she was—totally mine...I'd still--”

Itachi looked up again. “Ex _cuse_ me?”

(Itachi had never been angry at him before. The harshest things he had ever said were gentle reprimands, a correction on form.)

(He swallowed a hard lump.)

“Genetically, at least. Not mine. Not really.”

Unbidden, several worst-cases ran through Itachi's mind in succession, all of them leading back to Orochimaru. Playing with genetics...he felt himself beginning to recoil, but maintained the projection.

“Sasuke...What. Is. This.” His voice trembled at first, then rose in volume. “Do you have any idea how dangerous that was? Why did you— _make_ a child like this?”

“I wanted to make sure that the clan would have Sharingan.” Sasuke regained a modicum of his composure. “The only way to guarantee that—at least, the normal way—is to have a daughter born of two clan members because of how it's inherited. But I didn't have that.”

“Was it worth the debt to Orochimaru?” he spat, after a silence of ire.

“I didn't go to Orochimaru for this. It's too important.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a photo of Team Hawk, then pointed to the woman with red hair and glasses. “Karin performed the procedure.”

(Sasuke would _never_ have gone to Orochimaru for this. That snake would have created a failsafe, implanted a tracking device, stolen her for himself.)

“You—cloned yourself. Why?”

“I could have done that. But I wanted the best. I couldn't cut corners. This is the clan we're talking about.” The photo flapped as Sasuke waved his hand around. His gesture stopped at the center of Itachi's chest. 

The solution to the puzzle of _who_ coalesced.

Clones were unstable, so extra material would have been added, of course. Still, the bulk of it would have been sourced from an Uchiha. Given that Itachi had equal ease in entering Sasuke or Sarada's minds, but could only glean surface thoughts and impressions from others...well.

If Sasuke wasn't the primary genetic donor, that left only one other.

“Me.” If he were able to, he would have vomited. He felt dizzy, but had no method of relief. The room rippled. It did not come undone.

Sasuke went on like he hadn't heard. “Karin's location was too far from Konoha for her to carry it. So...Sakura volunteered as the surrogate. It was done, and we got married as a cover.”

The way he had called Sarada “it,” like she was something distasteful. Itachi was surprised, but unsurprised. Disappointed.

“She's just a tool to you,” Itachi muttered. It was close to a growl. “Of course.”

Sasuke shook his head. “No. She's the future of the clan. I'm doing everything I can to protect that.”

The silence stretched too long and too thin.

“It's the same thing!” An eruption, unbidden. “You don't care who she is as a person.”

“Of course I do.” A note of frustration crept into Sasuke's voice. “Why else do you think I'm on this mission?”

At the very least, he seemed to sincerely believe what he was saying, however unpleasant the implications.

“I met her,” Itachi murmured. “I...had been curious.”

(Even the phantom of Itachi was ahead of him in things. He felt a spear of envy pierce his chest.)

“She's very kind, Sasuke. She...really looks up to you,” he said. The corner of his mouth turned up. “She calls you 'Papa.'”

“She--looks up to me?”A ripple of shock made its way across Sasuke's face, then his expression crumpled. “She shouldn't.”

“I suppose it has to do with this memory.” The tentacles of dread crawled up Itachi's chest. “I'm not--”

“Nobody knew the ear infections existed for so long,” Sasuke said, inflection flat and drained. A muscle knotted and reknotted itself in the corner of his jaw. “Not until we realized she couldn't hear. By the time we saw a doctor, it had developed into Meningitis.

(Neither of them had known enough about toddlers to realize other symptoms had been present before that point. Somehow, though, they had gotten her treatment in time.)

He was silent, but his throat worked at itself.

After awhile, he spoke again. “We were lucky. I know that now. But when I found out about the vision loss at the time...all I cared about was whether the chakra lines were unaffected.” His voice caught. He held it, killing a whimper before it began.

“I see.”

Itachi reached out to touch Sasuke's shoulder, but his hand passed through. He paused, reconsidered, and gave Sasuke a forehead "poke" instead.

“Even more reason for you to talk with her,” he finally said. “Goodbye, little brother.”

He let Sasuke's dream-memory dissolve into a white haze after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To explain my line of reasoning (at least partially) check out this post on my tumblr tho I think some of my points are a bit inaccurate now, lol http://teensith.tumblr.com/post/122591735296
> 
> Thanks!!
> 
> -Val


	3. Chapter 3

Sarada had figured out, by this point, how to lucid dream. It began as meditating on the forest campsite dream before bed, trying to picture every detail of the scene. Pretty soon, she was able to dream it on command. So nearly every night, she dreamt it.

She made her own alterations to the scene, of course. A seating place for Uncle Itachi and for herself, a proper little bed for the baby-who-was-her. Little things to make it cozier. It quickly became a mental sanctuary of sorts. A comfort zone, even if there was nobody present who could provide it.

A place to safely imagine the sort of person Papa was without interference.

He had to be brave, and strong, like Mama'd said. Stoic, but not uncaring, if the photos were to be believed. And, she supposed, handsome, like Chouchou claimed. Boruto's parents were so cheerful and kind. Wasn't Papa friends with Uncle Naruto? They seemed resentful in old photos...

She stared at the fire, watching the tendrils of flame lick at the air.

(Itachi was surprised when it seemed that the dream-memory was made to pull him in.)

Uncle Itachi just appeared, like he was stepping through a doorway. He looked around the scene with interest, then knelt on the cushion.

"Hi." She waved.

"You made this?" he asked.

"Mhm!" She nodded. "I taught myself how to lucid dream. I think that's what it's called..."

He made a noise in the back of his throat. He smiled. "I'm impressed."

"R-really?"

(Itachi was mainly avoiding talking about Sasuke. He was unsure what to say, what to omit.)

"I've only managed it a few times." His eyes roved around the area again, eventually landing back onto her. "Do you dream this place every night?"

(He was genuinely impressed by this. He had a feeling her talents laid in genjutsu.)

"I try to…" She fiddled with her own fingers. "It's hard, even though I do it a lot…"

He reached out with two fingers and nudged her forehead. It was cold, like before. In the ensuing silence she gathered her courage to ask the question trapped behind her lips. She smiled weakly.

"Did you...get to meet Papa?" she asked, barely above a whisper.

For a moment, it seemed as if he had put on a neutral mask of an expression. It warmed up again instantly. "Yeah."

A warm spring bubbled through her stomach. She gripped the hem of her skirt with enough force to make the fabric burn her palms. "How-what was he like?"

(She was practically vibrating with anticipation, hope. The thought of compromising that with the bald truth...)

"He's still my little brother," he said, with a curl of his mouth. "Stubborn as always."

(He couldn't do it.)

"What do you mean?"

"Once he sets his mind to something, it is difficult to convince him otherwise." He laughed a little. "I think you'll understand once you meet him."

She inhaled sharply. Not quite a gasp. "He wants to see me?" she mumbled.

"...I believe so."

Her dream wobbled a little at the edges. "Do you know why he...went away?"

"He wanted to protect the village-"

"That's what Uncle Naruto said, too…" She tried not to sound too disappointed.

He leaned forward with a soft, concerned frown. "A lot of terrible things happened during the war. Sasuke doesn't want them to happen again. Not to you, or anyone."

She didn't know what to say to that.

Itachi went on. "But...he didn't realize he had hurt his precious people in the process."

(He ached, deep in his chest.)

Mama and Uncle Naruto had said that before…'precious people.' Family. Friends. Neighbors. Uncle Naruto had even said once that the entire village counted. "M...me?"

"You. And your mother. And Naruto and his family." He smiled, fully. "I think he'd want to talk with you."

She felt hard pain in her throat, the preamble to tears.

"I believe it is time for me to take my leave," he said. It was clear he meant for good this time.

They both stood in one motion. Their little clearing was graying out. At the corners of her vision, it turned into wisps. Soon, the two of them were the only blips of color.

"Yeah," she replied. "I...I'm glad I…you..."

He put his hands on her shoulders. At least, the gesture of it. "I understand."

"Thank you." She knotted her fingers together at her chest.

It seemed like the right thing to say. Her feelings and thoughts were tangling into a mess of noodles. Chouchou would probably have wanted to eat it, with spicy broth and pork. She stifled a hysterical bubble of laughter.

(Idly, he wondered why a tether to the living world had formed at the point it did, but he supposed it didn't matter.)

(That tether was thinning out, fraying rapidly.)

"Uncle Itachi?" she tried. "I...I wanna remember this."

A distant, sad look. Like his previous visit. He was clearly turning something over in his head, weighing something. Then he smiled.

"You recalled the first one. And made this dream." There was something warm and proud in his voice. "What does that tell you?"

"Oh," she said. She looked, really looked at him. "I won't forget you. I...I don't want to."

"That's correct." His hand moved strangely, then it hovered mid-air, as if he were trying to do something he forgot how. "I don't believe I will forget you, either."

He reached out two fingers.

"Goodbye, Sarada."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long gap before I finished it...Changed positions and schedule at work, then I finished Curiouser and Curiouser and took a break from fanfic to work on an original short story (which I will post a link to once done).
> 
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> -Val


End file.
